Not Healthy
by Yarrie - Water Master
Summary: Married life comes with its own set of problems for Kouji and Izumi - not the least of which are things that they can't help. Doctors can't perform miracles, after all. One-shot. Some angst. Edited.


A writing exercise that I got out of something I learned in biology. Yeah. If anyone wants an actual medical explanation of things - which will not appear in the story, say so in the review XD

EDITED. Over and over. I'm going to be revising most of my stories, so hang tight. Sorry if there are a lot of chapter alerts.

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Not Healthy

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In front of the drugstore, Kouji fidgeted slightly with his bottom button. Part of the stitching was coming loose, which aggravated him to no end. It wasn't like he could go to a store and buy a new shirt, after all – too much bother for such a short outing. From the lining of his jacket, he pulled out a thin, ragged cigarette. His hands fumbled slightly with the back pockets, searching for a lighter. He sighed when his fingers finally hit the cold metal case.

A wispy cloud of smoke floated into the air.

"I thought you quit."

The voice made him jump. In fact, right after the rude intrusion, Kouji nearly swallowed the cigarette. Coughing it out and catching the stray white tube in midair, he replied flatly, "I did."

Kouichi leaned against the darkened window and glared at him with dull irises. A cool look of exasperation rested on his cheeks and the curve of his lips. "Coward."

"I'm not running," Kouji retorted. In the cold evening air, he could almost see his breath smoking up even without a cigarette. "And it's none of your business."

"It is," his brother growled, "when your wife calls me at dinner and says you've been gone since four o'clock. _AM_."

He shrugged. "I have a watch. I know what time it is."

"Kouji." A brief hiss escaped Kouichi's lips. "I worry about you two. You know that."

"Well, so do I."

Kouichi was quiet. Then, very serenely, he changed the subject, "You're going to kill your lungs."

"I might as well. We'll die together, me and her." Kouji let the irony bite, and bite hard. A quiet tension vibrated through the air like a mental tug of war.

"Kouji, no dramatics. The doctor didn't say anything like that."

"Oh, and I suppose you asked him?"

"Not me personally," Kouichi muttered, "but close enough. I overheard the conversation."

"Fuck you."

"Did you suddenly regress ten years or something? I haven't heard you say that in public since we were seventeen." Kouichi kept his eyes firmly trained on the younger man, sounding strangely nostalgic.

Kouji forced himself to ignore the faint ache in his chest. "That's beside the point. If you're here to lecture me, I'm leaving."

"And going where?" Kouichi laughed, but not unkindly. "Kouji, you know where you should be right now. Do you know how worried Izumi is? That _can't_ be good for the baby, you know."

"And why," Kouji turned around, hissing, "Should I worry about Izumi when she doesn't care about what _I _think?" Maybe it wasn't guilt, but something still hurt in his chest when he started to say her name. It felt like admitting to his own selfishness, acknowledging that trouble was inevitable between them. How ridiculous. One word couldn't possibly be that loaded. Eventually, Kouji decided to banish the childish idea to the far regions of his mind.

His brother watched the city lights glow for a minute. "You're…really worried, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," Kouji hissed. "She's not supposed to have kids!"

"Maybe not," Kouichi said quietly, "but even if she has a miscarriage, she won't die from it."

"It's not an _if_. It's a when."

"Women have problems with pregnancy all the time."

"Do they have problems like hers?" Kouji leveled his brother with a deadpan stare. "Well?"

Kouichi looked back and said quietly, "You worry too much."

"We could have adopted," he retorted, throat burning for a cigarette. "Could have."

"And what happened with that?" Kouichi asked probingly.

"An accident."

"You're calling pregnancy an accident? Why not just divorce her and make sure that it never happens, huh?"

Kouji winced. Whenever Kouichi adopted this particular calm yet hostile tone, it always signaled the beginning of the end of any and all arguments. At age twenty-six, his older brother was still as demanding and authoritative as he had ever been. Briefly, Kouji entertained the thought of moving somewhere far, far away, but his homing instinct automatically rejected the idea. Leaving his only remaining family behind was never an option.

"It's not your business," Kouji finally said, prepared to push his twin away if it got him some much-needed time to think. He didn't bother softening the outburst. No need to be fake in front of _those_ sharp, perceptive eyes.

Kouichi didn't even flinch at the obvious dismissal. "You're my brother. And abandoning people isn't like you."

Kouji stared with half-lidded eyes at a lamp that was flickering through the trees on the west end of the avenue. His back straightened and held the rest of his body stiffly in place, but his skin tingled like layers of wet tissue paper, ready to drip off and float into the street gutter. "Why?" he asked, hollowly.

"Why what?"

"Why wouldn't it be like me?"

"Why would it?"

"No circles, Kouichi," he reminded tiredly.

"Sorry."

"Sorry for what?" Kouji began to toy with the loose button again, noting that the back was worn smooth like a river stone. It was a pretty old shirt; he had gotten several years of good use out of it. Maybe next time they should just throw it out instead of washing it.

Kouichi watched him bounce the tiny round buttons up and down with a slight smile on his face. "For being myself."

"Is that something to be ashamed of?" Kouji raised an eyebrow, mockingly. His voice cracked slightly at the end, so he cleared his throat haltingly.

Kouichi scoffed. "Only when it's you."

Now, _that_ was a bit much. "What's the problem with being me?"

"Your wife," he said simply, reminding Kouji of why they were still sitting outside on the street on a weekday night. The source of all his problems, so to speak.

"I want to take care of her," Kouji muttered, "but she's not letting me. Shouldn't something like this be decided by both of us?"

Kouichi sighed and admitted, "You're right, and she should have told you, but you blew it completely out of proportion. Think about it! If you really care about her health so much, why did you hang around here all day?"

"I'm too angry to talk to her."

"So angry that you want her to worry about you for the entire day? Doesn't sound much better, does it? Are you just trying to _punish_ her?"

Yes, yes, and yes. And just like that, Kouji lost. Lost the argument, lost the determination – the willpower – the strength to fight inevitability. Resentment sank underwater, throwing ripples everywhere before dissolving into a dilute doubtfulness.

He wondered how Izumi was holding up with a missing husband and an empty house. Being physically separated probably didn't bother her as much as it did for a normal husband and wife pair. After all, they spent most of their time away from each other, courtesy of long hours at work. Not that Kouji's sudden disappearance today was a normal occurrence, not at all. It was doubtful that Izumi would stay up like she always did, waiting for him to come back so they could go to sleep together. Really…what could she be doing now? He honestly had no idea.

"It's not as dangerous for her as you think. The more you worry, the more you push her away, and the worse things are. What were you trying to do?"

"I don't know." He shrugged helplessly. "It's just…the only thing I can't help her with. And she goes ahead and does it anyway." After a moment of thought, Kouji lifted himself up and dumped the limp cigarette in the trashcan. There was no sense of resolution – which wasn't exactly surprising. Kouji doubted that resolution was possible with problems like these. But it was dark, and late, and his limbs ached quietly with exhaustion.

"Tired?" Kouichi said, quietly.

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Say hello to your wife for me."

"You assume too much," Kouji said, but it was without heat.

"Am I right?"

"Do you even need to ask?" The words came out almost insultingly, but Kouji honestly didn't care to couch his speech with polite euphemisms anymore. After all, wasn't Izumi still waiting for him?

"Stop wasting time on me, Kouji. Go home."

Said man let a hand wave behind him as his footsteps carried him ever closer to familiar surroundings. Step by step, until he was standing right in front of a whitewashed brick house with a slightly crooked doorbell. The door was unlocked, as he knew it would be. Briefly, Kouji considered chastising her for being so careless, but he decided to leave the confrontations for later. Just returning would be hard enough.

The hallway light was still on. Kouji followed the lit-up path into the living room, where the large white ceiling fan hung over a tiny row of wall sconces. They shed a watery yellow light into the shadowy interior. He almost walked past the open doorway, but the faintest glimmer of yellow against the dark cushions made him stop dead. With his left hand, he flipped the switch to one of the minimalist chandeliers. Even though he already knew what to expect from the glimpse of soft golden hair, he was still surprised to see his Izumi curled up innocently on the couch like always. A closer look made the illusion of normalcy disintegrate: her eyelids were swollen and moisture clung to the delicate blond eyelashes. Pangs of guilt burned in his gut, but Kouji paid them no mind. No use crying over spilt milk, no matter how tempting it was to wallow in self-pity. He tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear and watched her breath quiver between chapped lips.

The woman groaned softly. "Kou…?" The questioning whisper in the dark ended with a sharp inhalation. Suddenly wide-eyed, she pushed herself up and stared. "Kouji! Where have you been…I was so…." She didn't finish the sentence. An awkward silence fell over the living room and it lasted until he cleared his throat weakly.

"Go to bed. I'll sleep here."

She swallowed. "Okay."

It was a punishment self-imposed and accepted by both sides. Perhaps even a truce. No doubt tomorrow would be a day of yelling matches, but for now, Kouji laid back on the stiff cushion and waited peacefully for sleep to come. Hours later, he dreamed fitfully of a deep, vast fog that swallowed the ground and the house and everyone inside it.

In the morning, Kouji woke up at a much later time than usual. It didn't surprise him much, considering how long he had been up the day before, but his body was not so blasé about the harsh treatment. Hunger and thirst burned in his throat. A film of grit on his teeth left an acrid taste in his mouth; his first thought was to stumble into the bathroom and wipe away the traces of grime and exhaustion. Shower. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. Everything looked so perfectly normal that he had to wonder if what happened yesterday really happened.

But Izumi was sitting at the table in the kitchen without her customary cup of coffee, telling him that things would never be so simple. He stood at the doorway, waiting for her to speak. After finally taking the cue, she asked him with an unwavering voice, "Do you want to talk?"

"Of course not, Izumi. My wife is pregnant when she shouldn't be, why would I want to talk?"

The blond woman ducked her head, probably to hide the angry tears brimming in her eyes. Kouji swallowed down a heavy dose of guilt and carefully locked it away until it was time to apologize properly. Not for the first time, he wondered how he could stand to do things like this to someone that he cared about, even if it was for their own good.

"Because you left," she offered, hesitantly.

Kouji let out a deep breath. "You didn't tell Kouichi everything." After a moment's hesitation, he added, "Thank you for that."

"No, it…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought him into this."

"And I should have gone off for an entire day?" he sighed. "It's fine. It's probably a miracle that he didn't figure everything out."

She toyed with her empty hands. "So?"

"So what?"

"What do you want to do?"

A slow-rising feeling of frustration welled up inside of him. "Why did you wait so long to ask me that, Izumi?" He dropped heavily into the chair next to her. The wooden legs scraped discordantly against the tile floor.

Hurt green eyes looked at him and her lower lip quivered, partly in anger and partly in misery. "I said I was sorry. You wouldn't have let me do it."

"Of course not," he gritted out through clenched teeth.

"That's why." Izumi maintained eye contact with a surprisingly determined expression on her face.

He swallowed hard. "Does your life really mean that little to you, Izumi?"

"That's not the issue," she protested, fingers suddenly looping around his neck like tiny anchors. "I have a lot to be grateful for. I _am _grateful."

"But?"

"But I want a child," she said quietly.

"One child. _One child_. Is that it? Do you get a kick out of ignoring the doctors?" Shaking slightly with fury and grief and helplessness, he lifted her up and laid his hands on her slender hips. "It's too risky. And that's just with _one_."

"Kouji, does it feel wrong?"

His jaw dropped in surprise. "What?"

"Does it feel wrong?" She tugged one of his wrists around and placed it on her belly. "Does it?"

Her abdomen just barely curved under his fingertips. Kouji leaned his forehead against hers, tiredly. "Yes. Because I know it's not going to stay like this. And you won't be able to…"

"I know," she whispered. "But…"

"Do you want to keep them? The children?"

"Yes," Izumi said, her eyes averted slightly. "But… I'm probably not going to be able to, am I?"

"The doctor said three months," Kouji muttered. "That's how long he expects you to carry them. At most."

"I know," she said. "Can we just ignore that for a while?"

"Why?" he asked, disbelievingly. "You want me to ignore your health for the sake of children who haven't been born – who won't _ever_ be born?"

"I want to imagine it." She held her hands out, shivering slightly. He took them and touched her fingers to his mouth.

"You can imagine it without getting pregnant. This isn't just a fantasy. Life's not a fantasy. You understand, right?"

"No," she said quietly, with the faintest touch of black humor, "I asked. It won't threaten my life…unless I somehow learn how to die from morning sickness."

"I don't want you to do this," Kouji murmured.

"I know you don't. I wasn't ever planning on telling you."

"I noticed."

She swallowed. "Let me?"

"For now." He held his hands over her belly again, dejectedly and protectively. "But if it gets dangerous…"

"I know," Izumi said. "Then we'll end it. Okay?"

Something inside of him protested weakly, but he nodded. "Okay."

Izumi lifted up pretty, pretty green eyes that practically glowed with gratitude. The sight was like a knife through his heart. Knowing that it would take months, even years to accept her inevitable miscarriage, Kouji wondered if this decision was really for the best. His instincts whispered to let her be, but cold logic said differently.

He laid a gentle kiss on her brow and rocked her, not bothering to hide his uneasiness. Not even to make her feel better. "We're going to the doctor tomorrow."

A nod. "Okay." There was a soft smile on her face, and Kouji was suddenly aware that this was a part of her that he had never seen before, a part of her that he would never see again if he could help it. Maternity didn't look good on a woman when nothing would come out of it.

"I don't want to lose you," he admitted, more to himself than anyone else.

She didn't respond. Kouji was grateful for her feigned ignorance. After this, they would fight and yell like always, pretending that he had never said anything like it.

Sometimes he wished that he didn't love her so much. This wasn't one of those times…but the reason for that was something that he didn't want to admit, even to himself.

Because maybe…just maybe…he wanted to pretend just as much as she did.


End file.
